Full Circle
by jainanicole
Summary: Scully makes a mistake. *Warning: this fic has been known to exhibit MSR tendencies* hehe. Please R/R


Full Circle  
  
  
  
"...There *is* no other explanation, Scully, you even said so yourself."  
  
I sputter, glaring furiously at his back. "No, Mulder, I never said that there was no other explanation, all I said was that *at the time* that one seemed the most plausible. But now...it's just absurd! Mulder, they are going to laugh us out of the Bureau if you present a report headlined with that. I'm serious. It reads like tabloid matter..."  
  
"Why are my ideas so hard for you to believe? Scientists have claimed for years that an evolutionary defect is possible, but when *I* say it, you dismiss it outright. If any of your precious doctors or physicists announced that this man was missing a link in his DNA, you'd be all over them, nodding and agreeing. Why am I any different?"  
  
"It's not you, Mulder, it's the very idea of a man with the so-called 'missing link.' If that were to happen -IF, Mulder, I'm not saying that it did- if it were to happen, it wouldn't be like this. It wouldn't be some random person, a solitary, isolated case. We'd have seen it many times before: in different cultures, in different races...and just never have *noticed* until now. That's the way it works."  
  
My statement, my pleading, is met with a stony silence, and an equally cold glare. I sigh. This fight is the same as the one we always have, it's just that the words and topic have changed, that's all. It seems that nearly every time we get a weird case like this, Mulder somehow just can't comprehend that I wouldn't believe his theories. And of course I won't, I never will...no amount of pleading or cajoling or pouty silence could convince me. I stand by my convictions, and Mulder usually respects me for it. Our fights end, fizzle out, neither of us satisfied, but each full of respect. Every case, every time.why should this one be any different? This time, though, he just seems angry. He's not listening to reason, not cracking any of his jokes. Something else must be going on in his life, something he hasn't told me about. I try for a gentler approach.  
  
"Mulder, it's not that I don't believe you. it's just that with everything I know, everything I've learned, I find it hard to bel...to *comprehend* that this case would be any different than previous ones. Experience has shown that..."  
  
I stop, disconcerted. He's not listening to me. He's slouched against his desk, staring out our small window, pointedly tapping his fingers. Making SURE that I know he's not listening. Dammit, sometimes this man can be so aggravating. I walk around the desk and grab my jacket. "Fine." I say. My voice comes out curt, much harsher than I had imagined. And at this moment, I don't care. When Mulder gets into one of these moods...I swear, he's worse than a kindergartner would be. "I give up," I say, "go ahead...sulk if you want to. I'm leaving. I'll see you after lunch." I want to get out of here before I explode, before I yell at him, or say something that I'll regret. Believe me, it's happened before. I quietly put my jacket on and begin to walk out of the room. I am almost to the door when his voice stops me.  
  
"You never believe me. It wouldn't matter what I say, what I do, whether it's the most scientific, logical answer in the world...as long as it's me saying it, you'll NEVER believe me."  
  
I spin around, intent on rebuking him, and find that he's followed me, and that I am close to him. Dangerously close. We stare at each other for a few seconds, but we don't speak. We don't need to. There is too much going on in my mind, in -I'm sure- his mind as well...too much that we can't put into words. Then Mulder does the only thing I want him to do, the only thing he CAN do: his hand snakes up to mold itself against my neck, and he pulls me to him, against him. Our mouths meet midway, tingling with the contact...the kiss hesitant and uncertain as a child taking its first step, testing the waters. Finding no resistance from me -for, who am *I* to keep a man from what he wants? - Mulder seems more confident, more assured. I feel it in his kiss. My lips part, allowing him entrance, allowing the salty, distinctively *Mulder* taste of him to flood my mouth, automatically, it seems, ceasing all brain function. My rationalization and excuses fly out the window -along with my breath- and I press myself tighter against him. My arms slither up to wrap tightly around his neck, pulling him down to my level -the differences in our height so profound it's ridiculous. I close my eyes, hearing an erratic rhythm pounding in my brain - the combined beating of Mulder's heart and mine. I like that image, it's almost symbolic. It speaks of love, of trust, of unity...of ohmygodthisisMulder. My mind falls back into place in an instant, a coin falling into a slot machine, and I panic as I realize what I am doing. I draw away, hastily, disentangling myself from his warm embrace. This is Mulder, This is Mulder.my brain beats an insane tattoo, filling my head with worry and doubt. What the *hell* was I doing? Mulder looks hurt, rejected...and I blush, looking away. My thoughts race, a mile a minute. He moves towards me and I duck, suddenly terrified of any contact with this man. This is Mulder, This is Mulder, This is Mulder. My temples are throbbing, and I'm getting a headache. I back away from him as if he's dangerous, contagious, a criminal psycho in one of our cases. He doesn't deserve to be treated like this, but I can't help it. This office is too small, I have to get out of here. My brain continues it's relentless taunting...This is Mulder, This is Mulder, is Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. Trying to escape my thoughts, my conscience, and the consequences of what I just did, I turn and bolt from the office, not wanting or daring to look back.  
  
Outside is better. At least here I can breath. The warm spring air circulates lazily, and passing tourists and vendors yell and laugh. And here I am in the midst of all this, miss grown-up doctor, running away from a boy, like a child would with an elementary-school crush. It's almost laughable, but somehow, in this moment, I don't find it funny. I just kissed Mulder...I just kissed Mulder... My mind has changed its tune. I just kissed Mulder... I just kissed Mulder... So why did I run away? I curse myself silently for my idiocy. Mulder looked so hurt when I walked out...I brush the thought away. Mulder wasn't hurt, he was probably relieved that I left and that he didn't have to make small talk. My mind continues to sing. Just a kiss, Just a kiss, Just a kiss. I swipe irritably at my hair, brushing a lock out of my eyes, as if that will shut the persistent voice up. No such luck...BEEEEEEEP!!! A car horn blares, and I jump back, narrowly avoiding getting hit. Then reality hits me, nearly as hard as that car would have: I was so intent on my thoughts, that I very nearly walked into the middle of D.C. traffic. I wince. Not a very smart move, especially for me. I have to get out of here before I do something equally as stupid. I stop to consider my options, but quickly realize that there are none: there is only one place that I can go when I'm feeling like this, only one place where I can think and sort things out. Hailing a cab, I get into it, and give the driver directions, anxious to get away from the FBI building and this whole mess.  
  
By the time my taxi arrives at the reflecting pool, (a significant amount of time, especially in midday D.C. traffic), I have calmed down considerably. I chastise myself for acting so childish about this. 'It was just a kiss, Dana,' I tell myself, 'you've been kissed before.' A small voice in the back of my mind speaks up. [It wasn't JUST a kiss, it was Mulder], but I brush it aside. I pay the driver what I owe and get out of the taxi, smoothing down my skirt as the warm April breeze whisks around me. I don't know why I chose to come here, but somehow, it's always been a comforting place. I head towards a bench -OUR bench- and, as I do, I see a familiar silhouette seated on it. Somehow, I am not surprised. Mulder's like that sometimes...he seems to know me, know exactly what I'm going to do.  
  
I approach the bench and sit down carefully beside him. Neither of us says a word as we stare out over the water. The midday sun glows gently onto the water, lending a warm yellow tint to the slowly drifting ripples. I watch a woman jog on the far side of the pool, oblivious to all else, her feet pounding in some indiscernible rhythm. Mulder leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. Unconsciously, I follow suit. Turning my head slightly to the side, I am amazed to find a small grin on his face. I swallow, and feel my face go hot at the thoughts running through my head. Blushing, I look down at my feet. "Listen, Mulder," I say, still not daring to look at him, "I'm really sorry about..." Mulder cuts me off with a shake of his head. "Don't ruin it, Scully," he says. I am confused, and I know it shows on my face. "Mul..." I begin to speak, but he cuts me off again, still shaking his head violently. "Don't you dare rationalize *this* one." That's it, he wins, I'm lost. "What in god's name are you talking about?"  
  
He looks at me intently, and I find that I can't look away. "You have to rationalize everything, Scully, every single thing you do. Don't you every get tired of it?" I can tell that the question was rhetorical, so I keep my mouth shut. I was right: he plows on. "*I* get tired of it. I get tired of thinking that you're rationalizing me, analyzing me. I don't *want* you to analyze what just happened, Scully, please don't. I don't want to you to pick it apart and tear it up like it's one of your cases. It's *not*. It's life, Scully, emotions, and that is something that you can't analyze...no matter how hard you try. So please don't. I don't want you to ruin that, I just want to sit here -with you- and enjoy the day...and... " He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. My mind has already done it for him. '...and enjoy the memory.'  
  
That is the most honest thing I have ever heard Mulder say, as choppy as it may be. I smile, and reach out to rub my hand gently over his. "Okay," I say, "I won't analyze it." He smiles up at me, and we sit for a few moments in contented silence. "Forgive me?" I ask timidly.  
  
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I dunno...imagine the punishments I could get you to do..."  
  
"Harassment, Mulder," I say in a warning tone. Despite my words, I find that I am smiling wryly. "It's still illegal."  
  
He grins back at me, and I can see that all is forgiven. "Don't I know it," he says.  
  
As Mulder hails a taxi, I notice the jogger again, on the same side of the pool that she was before. It's as if she's come full circle. In a small way, that's exactly what Mulder and I have done, too... I have little time to muse over this irony before Mulder grabs my hand and pulls me into the cab beside him.  
  
"I'm still not sure if you're forgiven," he says, in a stage whisper, as the taxi pulls away from the curb. "I'll have to consider your punishment..." He shouldn't have bothered with a whisper: it's two seconds into the ride and the driver is already cursing at a pedestrian. Welcome to Washington. I smile and settle in for the drive. Mulder pokes me, trying to get my attention, and attempts to pull my purse away in the scuffle that ensues. "Did I mention that I'm all out of money?" he says. I have to laugh. Leave it to Mulder to hail a cab without even bothering to check if we have enough to pay for it. I hold out a couple of crisp dollar bills, but I cling tightly to them as he tries to pull them out of my hand. He looks at me, questioning, and I lean in close, mimicking his stage whisper.  
  
"Call it even?"  
  
He grins back.  
  
"Deal."  
  
I love this job. 


End file.
